


tangled up with you all night

by mozartspiano



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety Attacks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:57:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozartspiano/pseuds/mozartspiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry's never picked anyone up by having one of his friends puke on them but he supposes there's a first time for everything</p><p>university au</p>
            </blockquote>





	tangled up with you all night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cashewdani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cashewdani/gifts).



> title from _wildest dreams_ by taylor swift

Harry never truly understood the expression shitfaced until he's stumbling down the street with a drunken Niall Horan on a Wednesday night.

"Fuck mate," Harry says, half carrying Niall as they make their way to the bus stop. He's known him for three days and never realized how heavy he was until this exact moment. "How much did you drink?"

Niall makes a garbled noise and then laughs. Drunk Niall is not too different from sober Niall, if Harry's quite honest. 

"Hm," Harry says. "Well, I'd be more careful next time. You're only lucky I didn't drink too much."

" _Boooooorrrinnnng_ ," Niall calls loudly, then hiccups. Harry pinches him under the ribs. "Harry mate. Harry. Harry."

"Yes?"

"Har _rehhhhh_."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Harry huffs, leaning Niall up against the bus stop pole. Niall lulls his head and burps. He grins, like a toddler. "I thought you'd be able to hold your drink better."

"I-" Niall goes cross eyed for a second. "I can hold me drink. I'm- I'm Irish."

Harry's about to protest because Niall can't hold onto a pole let alone his fucking sanity, when a voice comes from behind him.

"Hey," a man says, voice careful and low. "You guys alright?"

Harry turns to reassure the stranger but the breath catches in his throat.

Hazel eyes, dark freckles, thick eyelashes, pink mouth, curly hair, framed glasses. The man's tall and has a large face and big hair and a kind, curved smile. He's wearing a jumper that Harry wants to steal. 

"Uh," Harry replies because his brain is stumbling. "Um, we're uh. We're fine."

Niall gives a particularly loud hiccup and almost falls over. Harry rights him at the last second, heaving him back against the post. He turns back to the stranger, his eyes twinkling in the light from the lamp post.

"Was he on the jello shots?" the man asks. His accent is Manchester, not Scouse, making Harry's toes curl up in familiarity. 

"Thought he could do a funnel," Harry says, patting Niall on the head. Niall mutters something about cats. "A little too optimistic."

"I'd say," the man laughs. His eyes don't leave Harry's when he holds out a hand. "I'm Nick, by the way."

Harry's about to open his mouth to reply when Niall beats him to it. In a near graceful movement he opens his mouth, bends at the waist, and pukes all over Nick's shoes. 

 

After Harry's apologized two dozen times and run in and out of the nearest pizza place for napkins, Nick puts a hand on his arm and gives him a smile that makes his lungs feel burnt and hollow. 

"Hey," Nick says, staring into Harry's eyes. Harry can feel the blush spreading across his cheeks and hopes that the darkness would hide them. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Harry," Harry says, biting his lip. 

"Well Harry," Nick says, throwing the last of the napkins into the rubbish bin with a grimace. "Your friend is an absolute menace but you're alright, aren't you?"

Harry swallows. From the curb Niall gives a loud snore in recognition. 

"You aren't too bad yourself," Harry says, looking up from under his eyelashes at Nick. Nick grins back.

 

Two days later Nick calls him and they meet up at a party one of Nick's friends is throwing. There Harry meets a strange girl with orange hair who tells him that he's too good for Nick, a man with round glasses wearing a shirt with a flamingo, and gets given a delicious brownie from a girl with amazing tits. 

He drinks rum and dances with Nick and then makes out on the front lawn with him until the cops come. 

 

They go for coffee after classes on the first day and kiss on the grass in the park. Nick likes playing with Harry's hair, likes to put dandelions through it. Harry doesn't mind so much because Nick lets him put his head in his lap, faces pillowed on Nick's thighs. 

It's casual though, they're casual. They hook up at another party Nick invites him to, even though Nick spends half the time drunkenly kissing his friends and laughing with them. Harry feels a little out of place at first, what with being surrounded by people he doesn't know, but Pixie says he's cute and Gillian gets him a drink and a boy named Matt Fincham discusses the latest Bond film with him until past midnight. 

When the clock strikes one Nick finally finds him, dragging him into a toilet. Harry sucks him off there, sloppy in his inexperience. Nick returns the favour with lovebites and a handjob that makes Harry shake in his arms, unable to stop for minutes afterwards. 

The next day they pick up a curry together and Harry, remembering that Niall has a two hour lecture, asks Nick if he wants to see his CD collection. Nick says yes.

 

"You've done this before, right?" Nick asks, hand sliding around to Harry's back. It's a tight fit on the bed but he just manages to squeeze his hand into the back of Harry's jeans. 

Harry stares up at Nick. They're both panting a bit, huddled close together on the small dorm bed. They've been kissing since Nick stopped pretending to care about the trinkets lying around Harry's room. 

Harry knows they've only got an hour at most before Niall gets back from class, but he can't help messing around a bit.

"No," he says, biting his lip and making his eyes go big. "I'm saving myself for marriage."

Nick's eyebrow quirks. "Huh."

"I want to be in love, you know?" Harry says, trying not to squirm too obviously into the hand on his bum. "It's important to me."

"Oh," Nick slides his hand out. "You're serious."

"As serious as the plague, yeah," Harry says, blinking as Nick's face undergoes a series of interesting expressions. 

"I didn't, uh," Nick bites his own lip and moves to shuffle off Harry. "Um, sorry, this is, ugh-"

Harry giggles.

Nick stops moving. 

Harry turns his head into the pillow and giggles again, taking the hand he had resting against Nick's ribcage to hide his face.

Nick's weight resettles over Harry. "You're fucking with me."

"Should have-" Harry chokes out. "Should have seen your face-"

Nick digs his long, thin fingers into Harry's sides until he's close to tears from laughter. He tries rolling away and almost falls off the bed, Nick's arms catching him at the last second. Harry giggles uncontrollably when Nick pretends to bite his shoulder and only stops to pull him into a kiss.

"Seriously though," Nick says a little later. His hands are so big on Harry's hips. "We don't have to if you don't want to."

"I've had sex before, Nick," Harry scoffs, careful not to add the _with girls_. "I'm not some kind of dumb virgin."

"I just want to make sure that you-"

Harry kisses him to shut him up, climbing on top of Nick's stupidly endless legs. He moves one of Nick's hands onto his bum and drags the other into his hair. Nick looks a little shell shocked so Harry kisses his face. 

"I want you to," he whispers, wrapping his arms tight around Nick's neck and shifting up onto his knees when Nick tugs down his jeans at the back. He bites back a moan. "You know. Fuck me."

He doesn't tell Nick he's never done this before. He doesn't tell Nick that Holmes Chapel's a small town and he's only ever kissed two boys in his whole life. He just smiles and forces his heart beat to calm down. 

Nick runs a slow hand down his torso and gets to work.

 

By the time Niall gets back from his class they're dressed, side by side on Harry's bed as they watch an episode of _Gogglebox_ on his laptop. And sure, Harry's neck is bitten up and there are bruises on his thighs and he can't stop smiling – but other than that there's nothing off about them at all.

"Hey," he greets once Niall's flung himself onto his own bed, face covered up by his mountain of pillows. "How was class?"

Niall makes a noise. Harry interprets it as generally positive. 

Nick leaves a little while later, off to his job at the student radio station. Harry walks him out of the resident building, standing just inside the door so he wouldn't have to use his card to open it again. 

"So," Nick says, looking down at their feet. "That was. Um. Nice."

"It was nice," Harry says. There's a dull ache in between his legs and it makes him feel warm. "It was really nice."

He wants to ask _when will I see you again_ and _can we date_ and _do you like me_ , but he keeps his mouth shut.

"Hey so," Nick coughs and continues. "You should come by the radio station some time. I'm on after ten and it's really quiet so. Yeah, you should stop by."

"Oh," Harry smiles. "Sounds fun."

Nick blushes and awkwardly walks away, one hand waving. Harry watches him leave with a grin.

 

Niall needs to pick up a couple textbooks so they spend the next morning emptying their bank accounts on heavy, boring books. Harry nearly cries when he sees the anthology on British literature he's meant to lug around to every class. 

They drop their books off at their room and then go to the little Mexican place just off campus that a girl in Niall's sound engineering class was raving about. There's a little patio outside that they sit in, worn wooden benches under a torn umbrella. 

"So that was Nick then," Niall says, unravelling the aluminum around his burrito. "Last night."

"Yeah," Harry says, looking at his own platter of tortilla chips and guacamole. He fiddles with one while Niall takes a big bite. "And that's cool?"

"What's cool?" Niall asks, mouth full.

"You're okay with it, right?" 

"With what?" Niall isn't looking at Harry. Niall's looking at his burrito. 

"Me and Nick," Harry says, nervously nibbling on his bottom lip. "Us seeing each other."

"As long as you don't fuck on my bed," Niall says. 

Harry looks down to his lap and smiles. He coughs, looks up, "I can't make any promises."

Niall kicks him under the table. Harry whines loudly and steals his burrito, taking a big bite. 

 

The boy behind the counter at Starbucks won't let Harry order a green tea.

"Tea on a Friday night?" the boy asks, eyes bright and flirtatious. His name tag reads out _Louis_ with a little smiley face next to it. "Sure you don't want a caramel Frappuccino?"

He ends it with a charming smile. He's very pretty.

"It's four degrees outside," Harry says, tugging on his sleeves. It's too long on him because he stole it from Nick before he left his flat this morning. 

"Pumpkin spiced latte then?" Louis asks, far more forward then anyone in a green apron should be. 

"Just the green tea, thank you," Harry says, smiling. "And a cheese croissant."

"Okay then, Curly," Louis sighs, making Harry laugh a bit. "One cup of green backwash on its way."

"Hey," Harry chides, smiling as he hands across the correct change. Louis' fingers brush against his and he winks. Harry rolls his eyes but smiles. 

"Oh," Harry says just as Louis turns away to start making his drink. "Can you turn the radio up?"

Louis gives him an odd look but does, the little orange FM player in the corner echoing through the quiet café. It's an ASAP Rocky song, something loud and soft all at once. Harry taps his toes a bit as Louis passes him over his croissant. 

"Didn't peg you for a rap fan," Louis says, sliding his tea into a little sleeve. On the side of the cup he can see _Curly xx_. 

"Don't judge a book by its cover," he says, shrugging. "But really, it's less the song and more the show."

"What you like student radio?"

"You don't?" Harry crumbles off a piece of croissant and pops it into his mouth. He watches Louis watch him back. 

"Not a massive fan of the bloke on after ten," Louis says, eyes still on Harry's mouth. "Just prattles on all the time about nothing." 

"Oh, I listen every night," Harry says, shoving the rest of his croissant inside the smooth pocket of the rice bag backpack his sister gave him before leaving for university. He checks to make sure the flap is secure before grabbing his tea.

"Is he a friend of yours or something?" Louis asks, his eyes flicking up from Harry's lips again. God, this boy was the opposite of subtle.

"Boyfriend, actually," Harry says, smiling kindly. He shoulders his backpack up a bit and grabs his tea. "Have a good night!"

As he leaves he can just hear Nick on the radio behind him, blabbering on about how much he's obsessed with ASAP and how the other day a friend was dancing to him in the kitchen and knocked over Nick's spice rack.

Choosing to ignore that he didn't knock into so much as was _pushed_ into it, Harry pushes the door open and steps out into the cool autumn air.

 

When Harry gets to the studio Nick's arguing with Finchy and Fiona about something. He stops when Harry comes over, smiling as Harry drapes himself over the back of Nick's chair. 

"Hey babe," he says. "Y'alright?"

Harry presses his cold nose to Nick's neck. Nick yelps and tries to jump away. 

Finchy sighs loudly. "The record's ending Nicholas."

Harry presses a tiny kiss on the skin just below Nick's ear and leans away. "Did you have to tell the spice rack story?"

Nick grins wickedly and wheels over to the mike.

"Sorry H," he says and then he's fading down and the record and doing the usual spiel. Harry watches him for a second before Fiona coughs behind him and he realizes he's in everyone's way. He slides himself to the back of the studio where a threadbare couch and a beanbag chair are. The bean bag chair is deflated and lopsided, but it's not nearly as stained as the couch. 

Harry slides down to sit, watching as Finchy and Fiona flap around Nick while he tells stories of horrid professors and wild parties. He sips his green tea and slides a book out of his bag. 

He settles in, letting Nick's voice wash over him, and begins reading. 

 

Harry's piling his clothes into a free washing machine on a Thursday when he's interrupted by a throat clearing behind him.

"Hey," comes a distinctly male and unfamiliar voice. "Could I borrow some of your detergent, love?"

Harry turns his head round to see a boy with big brown eyes and ripped arms smiling at him. His smile falters as Harry peers up at him. 

"Oh," the boy says. "You're a boy."

"Yeah," Harry says.

"Oh," the boy repeats. Harry grins.

"Maybe I really do need a haircut," he says, winking at the boy. He stands up, brushing off his thighs, and grabs his detergent. "You can borrow some, if you need to."

"Thanks," the boy says, taking it. He stands sort of awkwardly. 

"Do I really look like a girl from the back?" Harry asks.

The boy does a weird sort of nod. "Your skinny jeans are really, like. Tight."

"Huh," Harry watches as Liam closes the door to his washer. "And has that line worked for you before?"

"Once," the boy says, smiling a bit. "Thought I'd try my luck again. I'm Liam."

"Harry." They shake hands. Harry leers at Liam's arms a little. "It might have worked on me if I didn't have a boyfriend."

Harry ignores the small voice in his head that reminds him that they haven't really given each other names just yet. Nick _is_ his boyfriend, even if he doesn't necessarily know it yet.

"Good to know," Liam pours some detergent in his washer and then passes it back. "Hey, you doing anything tonight?"

Harry raises an eyebrow and Liam blushes.

"No, like," He's really sweet when he's flustered, like a little puppy. "There's a party my mates are going to at a house on the other side of campus?"

"Right," Harry says, vaguely remembering Niall prattling on about it while Harry'd been frantically printing his reading for a class. "I heard about it, yeah."

"You should come," Liam says and Harry's not entirely sure whether or not he's being hit on, which is kind of a first. "It's being thrown by the rugby team, so if you say you know me you'll get free beer."

"Wicked," Harry grins. He's already thinking up ways to phrase it in a text to Nick so he doesn't immediately say no (the perils of maybe-kind-of dating a boy who was over first year parties). "I guess I'll see you there then."

"Cool," Liam smiles. 

 

Niall insists on getting burgers before the party so everything's in full swing when they do arrive. The halls are packed and smell of cheap beer and weed. Niall grins around at everything and throws his arm over Harry's shoulder.

"I'm so happy right now," he says. "Let's get drunk."

Harry's on his second beer, standing with Niall and a boy he met in sociology, when Liam bumps into him. 

"Hey," Liam says, smile wide. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too," Harry's got a free beer in his hands and a best mate by his side. Not much tops that. "This is Niall."

Niall and Liam do a bro nod thing and then Liam grabs Harry's elbow.

"Hey," he says in Harry's ear. His breath is warm and heavy. "I know where Pete hid the rum, if you want something a bit stronger."

Harry grins and follows Liam into the kitchen. There are a few people milling about as per, but it's easy enough to get to the spinning cabinet in the corner. Liam pulls out a half empty bottle of rum and pours some into two red cups. 

"Got any Coke?" Harry asks as Liam caps the bottle and puts it back. He swirls his drink and thinks about the house parties in Holmes Chapel, thinks about fingering girls in Will's bedroom and throwing up in the rose bushes round the back. 

Liam retrieves a bottle from the fridge and tops them both off. They lean up against the counter and watch a girl laugh on the other side of the kitchen. 

"I really am glad you came," Liam says. His eyes are only just beginning to become glassy. "I've never like, been with a guy before."

"Oh," Harry looks into his drink. "Um. It's pretty fun."

Liam hums. He's not looking at Harry's eyes anymore but instead at his lips maybe. Harry sighs. 

"Not with me though," Harry says. "With some other boy. Some boy who isn't me."

Liam looks back up at him, confused and maybe a little hurt. He sways just a little and his hand grabs on to Harry's waist for balance. It stays there, even after he's steadied himself.

"You're pretty," Liam says, leaning in. Harry turns his head just in time, getting Liam's lips on his cheek. 

"C'mon, Liam," Harry chides, gently pulling Liam's hand off him. "None of that, man."

"You don't like me," Liam says and it's heartbreaking to watch as his eyes grow to the size of the moon.

"Sure I do," Harry takes a sip of his drink and then looks around the room. "I like you plenty. But I bet there's someone in here who likes you even more. Like – um, maybe-"

Liam's hands are somehow back on his waist and it's only when Harry's prying them off, shooting Liam a reproachful look, that he sees him. 

"-that boy!" Harry points wildly. There's a boy lining up for a beer pong shot. He's lithe and small and –

"Louis!" Harry smiles. "Louis. You and Louis should get together."

"Who's Louis?" asks Liam from where he's hid himself in Harry's neck. 

"Only the best barista in the world," Harry says, taking a large swig of his drink. It burbles in his stomach, but that's just the Coke. Probably. "C'mon, I'll introduce you."

 

Harry slips outside once Liam and Louis are practically a single entity on the couch, congratulating himself on his matchmaking skills. Not that either of them would remember it in the morning, but, well. It was nice. And just romantic enough that it made Harry miss his own maybe-sort-of boyfriend.

"Hey," Nick greets when he picks up. Harry smiles to himself and shivers in the slight nip of the night. "Y'alright?"

"Mhm," Harry says. "At this party."

"Any good?" He sounds kind of distracted, which makes Harry's brow furrow. 

"It'd be better if you were here," he sits down on the steps of the porch and smiles at a girl smoking a joint on the grass nearby. "When do you get off work?"

"In a bit," Harry closes his eyes and listens to the slight rasp in Nick's voice. "Then Annie and I are grabbing sushi. Free after that though."

"You should totally come to this party," Harry says.

"Why?"

"Because I'm here."

Nick hums as if he's considering and then – "That's one hell of an argument, Styles."

Harry giggles and plays with the ends of his jeans. "Does that mean you'll come?"

Nick sighs but doesn't deny it. Harry grins wider. 

 

By the time Nick gets to the party Harry's a giggly, happy, pleasant sort of drunk. His lips feel rubbery and his bones feel sluggish but when he sees Nick's quiff bopping around in the crowd he can't help but leap to his feet.

"Nicholas!" he cries, launching himself into Nick's warm safe happy arms. He squiggles his face into Nick's neck as he feels hands come to rest on his hips. "You're here. I'm so happy you're here."

"Y'alright love?" Nick asks, tugging Harry's chin up so he can look at him. Harry smiles up at him, trying to keep his eyes fully open. He's tired. And horny. "Let me get a look at you."

"Nick, we're in public," Harry says, delighted.

"Hush, you," Nick slides his fingers into Harry's and Harry's heart feels like it's going to explode. He could write a novel about how much he likes Nick (so much, he likes him so so much). "What's this then?"

He nods at a string of numbers someone's written on Harry's arm. Harry shrugs.

"Some boy wrote that earlier," he says, staring at the little cluster of freckles on the side of Nick's mouth. "I told him not to bother, but he was very persistent." 

"Who wouldn't be," Nick murmurs and then finally, finally, puts his mouth on Harry's. His lips are soft and gentle and kind and perfect and Harry's heart nearly thuds out of his chest. 

When Nick pulls back he brings their foreheads together, breath mingling in between them. "You good?"

"Better now," Harry says, huffing out a little laugh. He slides his left hand just under the collar of Nick's shirt and thrills in the warmth of his skin.

Harry wants to spend the whole night wrapped up in Nick's arms. He wants to suck him off in the toilet and kiss him and cuddle him and hold his hand and not look at anyone else, ever, for the whole party, maybe the whole week. He wants to watch stupid television with him and adopt a dog together and then maybe some kids and a house in the country. 

Nick smiles at him, gentle and sweet and perfect, before tugging on Harry's hand with one of his. 

"C'mon," he says, pressing one last kiss to Harry's temple. "I'm going to need a beer if I have to stomach all these firsties-"

"Wait, wait, Nick," Harry grabs Nick's hand with both of his. "I have to ask you something."

"Oh love," Nick says, eyes bright. They're laughing at Harry and he doesn't like it. "You're so wasted."

"Am not," Harry pouts. "But I have to ask you. Are you like – are you my boyfriend?"

Nick stills a bit but Harry keeps going, "Because like, I want to be your boyfriend. I want to date. I think we'd be really good at dating, don't you?"

"I guess so," Nick says.

"So we should then, right?" Harry's making a whole lot of sense. This is practically poetry. "We should date. I want to. And I always get what I – what I want."

"Do you now?" Nick looks amused now. Harry smiles up at him. 

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah I do."

"Hm," Nick says, sighing big and grand. "Well I can't argue against that logic."

Harry laughs, loud, and then drags Nick over to the beer, their hands tangled together between them. 

 

Harry can vaguely recall stumbling onto the bus after a night of watching Nick at the party; watching him charm everyone in sight and wave his hands around and be so ridiculously funny, all with Harry under one arm. 

Harry can vaguely recall Nick pulling him into his chest as they sat on the hard plastic, of shifting his face into Nick's neck. He can remember the city flashing by through the windows, trying to climb into Nick's lap, and Nick laughing in his ear.

And just on the very edge of his memories is a picture of himself pushing his mouth to Nick's and whispering, over and over again, "It's like fireworks, Nicholas. Every time – it's like fireworks."

 

Harry is very very very hungover the next morning. He gets to his British literature course ten minutes after it's started and scurries to the very back. There's only one person in the whole back row so he sits next to him, head pounding.

"Hey," he whispers. The boy has an amazing jawline and bored eyes. "Do you have a pen I could borrow?"

"Here," the boy slides a bic across to him. He appears to be doing a detailed drawing of the TA with the brown hair in the front row. 

"Thanks," Harry says, trying to follow the powerpoint and failing. "I'm Harry by the way."

"Zayn."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

Harry spends the next half hour taking mediocre notes while Zayn sketches next to him. The prof announces a ten minute break halfway through the class. 

"You're really good," Harry says, nodding down at where Zayn's added on to his sketches. "Are you an art major?"

"Drawing."

"Wow," Harry watches Zayn smile slightly. He beams back. "That's so cool."

"Thanks," Zayn looks up at him and smirks a bit. "Did you meet a vampire last night?"

"What?"

Zayn reaches over and taps just under Harry's apple. When he presses down Harry can feel the telltale ache of a bruise. He blushes.

"Oh," he says, stumbling. "My boyfriend, he, uh. Well."

Zayn laughs. Harry smiles shyly. 

"Do you want to see a picture of him?" Harry asks, stupidly. He's still in a weird haze of a mood due in equal part to the alcohol he drank and the fact that he has a real official boyfriend. 

He shows Zayn without really waiting for an answer. Harry swipes through the party pictures from the night before, seeing a particularly graphic one of Louis and Liam, before settling on a selfie he made Nick take when he was too drunk to hold his phone properly. 

"That him?" Zayn asks, peering at Harry's phone. "He's cute."

"He's the most cute," Harry says, not able to help the smile that spreads across his face. "He's more handsome in person too. Like. He is."

Zayn smiles and shrugs. "I'm more into blonds."

Harry's hungover brain takes a second and when it does kick into gear he gets halfway through "my roommate is blond-" before the professor is back and the class is under way once more.

 

October creeps up on Harry. The days grow shorter and wetter, until his umbrella is a constant accessory. Homework and assignments pile up on his desk, one on top of the other. Nick becomes busy too. They have to start planning out every one of their days, so they can see each other. 

Weekly dates become a thing. They spend their Friday nights drinking and playing board games at Nick's place with friends. They sleep in together the next morning and laze around until its late and Harry's sore. Then Harry leaves and does homework and comes back the next day for roast dinner.

He misses his friends from home, his mum and his dad and sister. He misses having a real proper kitchen. He misses his cat. 

But he loves all the new people around him. He loves hanging out with Nick. He loves being best friends with Niall.

Just before the start of midterms Niall books a small gig at a coffee shop and Harry drags Nick to it, lying in a booth with him while Niall covers Buble on a stool in the corner. They're the only ones cheering at the end but people smile and slap Niall on the back when he leaves, so it's enough of a victory to go out for pints. 

At the pub Harry bumps into a wasted Louis who tells him his shirt is stupid and that Liam Payne is even stupider. 

Louis and Niall get on like a house on fire, which is convenient when Nick and Harry just want to snog on the other side of the table. It becomes even more convenient when Louis pulls his friend over – one quiet, mysterious, blond-loving Zayn Malik. 

Niall falls hard while Zayn plays it cool. Louis complains about Liam and his stupid muscles and his dumb jock ways. Nick bites at Harry's ear all night, one hand on his thigh. 

And when they leave the pub at closing time, Louis and Niall singing loudly in the street as Zayn covered his face, Harry just squeezes Nick's hand and breaths deep.

 

They're in the library. Harry's bent over a biography on Margaret Thatcher, head swimming as he tried to read the words on the page. Next to him Nick is whining about macroeconomics, poking Harry's cheek every time he looks down again.

"-and it's like, fuck numbers," Nick says flipping through his book so all the pages blur together. "What good are numbers, anyway? No good at all. Stupid and dumb."

"Nicholas," Harry chastises, ignoring the fluttering in his heart that always starts up when Nick is within six feet of him. "Do your homework."

"Don't wanna," Nick mutters. He leans in to place his head on Harry's shoulder and Harry tries not to squirm. "Let's go back to mine instead. We can get takeaway and watch Bake Off and kick Henry out."

"Why would we need to kick Henry out?" Harry asks even though he knows the answer.

"Use your imagination," Nick whispers, biting the lobe of Harry's ear and Harry blushes. "You know my bed's been missing you."

"I saw it this morning," Harry says, turning to face Nick. He's trying for a scolding look but can't quite manage it. 

Nick hums. "Okay, I lied. The bed's sick of your old mug. We'll have to christen the counter in the kitchen instead."

"Nicholas," Harry says turning beet red as the girl at the table a couple feet away shoots them an annoyed look. "Stop it right now."

"You used to be fun," Nick tells him, moving away and pouting a bit. His hair's fallen flat since they've been at the library ("for bloody hours!") but Harry likes it this way. It's soft and curled around the edges.

Harry watches Nick slump down in his chair and open his book again. "Grim?"

"Ohhhh so interrupting is only okay when you do it?" Nick says, glare in his eye that falters when Harry grins at him. Nick looks away but drops his hand on Harry's thigh. "What is it, love?"

"Do you want to be half a horse with me for Halloween?" Harry blurts out. He meant to ask what Nick wanted to have for dinner. 

"Pardon?"

"Um," Well, Harry _had_ been thinking about it. "You know those horse costumes you can get? Where one person's the front of the horse and the other one's the back?"

Nick drops his head onto the table and groans. 

"I thought it could be fun," Harry says, shifting closer. He picks up the hand Nick still has on his thigh and squeezes. "We'd be able to find each other so easy in the crowd, and everyone would want to take pictures with us and-"

Nick groans again.

"And you can be either side you like, it's totally up to you. I could be the back half and then you could make bottom jokes all night? Or like, you could be the back half and then we could like, dirty dance together and grind to songs with hey in the title – do you get it, hey like hay-"

"You've lost your fucking mind," Nick says into the desk.

"And we don't even have to be a horse if you don't want to," Harry says, nudging his nose against Nick's ear. "I've looked online and they have alpaca costumes and camel costumes…"

Nick raises his head with a snort. He's looking at Harry the way he sometimes does when they're about to go to sleep, all soft eyes and gentle smile. 

"You're insane," he says, but the way he says it makes Harry think he really means something else. "Absolutely batshit."

"So you'll do it?"

Nick shakes his head and tugs Harry in for a kiss.

"I'll do anything you fucking want," Nick mutters against his lips and Harry tries to control the fast pace of his heart. "Anything you want."

When they break away Harry's lips are slick and his lungs feel like they've been burnt to a crisp. Nick is pulling through his hair with his long, careful fingers. The words Harry desperately wants to say are on his tongue but he stops himself at the last second. "You're too good to me."

No use ruining a perfectly lovely afternoon. 

"Oh hush," Nick says, blushing which he never ever does. Harry grins. 

"You are the wind beneath my wings, Nicholas Grimshaw," he coos, cuddling up against him and throwing his arms around Nick's neck. "You're my light, my life, my reason to be-"

"Harry-"

"You make me so so so so so so-" Nick cuts Harry off with his lips, pressing them together. Harry can't stop smiling, won't stop smiling, not for anything. 

"-so happy," Harry says, looking up at Nick when they've pulled away, foreheads pressed together. "You make me so happy."

Nick looks down but he doesn't pull away, which is what he usually does when Harry's voice becomes serious like this, so he pushes forward, "I know I shouldn't say that, you know. I know you have trouble thinking about it sometimes."

"Harry," Nick says, quiet.

"I know, I know, I'll stop," Harry takes a breath, tightens his arms around Nick's neck and looks down. The moment feels too hot to touch, too intense for the library chairs they're in. "I've just never felt like this before, Nick. Not ever. I don't think I've ever been happier than I am when I'm around you."

"Harry?" Nick whispers, his hand curled into Harry's waist. Harry looks up into his eyes and holds his breath. "You make me really happy too." 

Harry can feel his own smile spread and doesn't try to reel it in. "Oh. Oh, good." 

"Yeah," Nick says, and then he kisses Harry again and they can't stop, they just can't stop putting their mouths together. The library is getting busier as the two-thirty classes get out, but they stay together, Harry trying to slide onto Nick's lap while Nick runs his hands down his back.

"Hey, Harry?" Nick asks a little while longer, when Harry's mouth is swollen and his heart is on fire. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," Harry says, breathless.

"What ever happened to Clay Aiken?" asks Nick, one hand sliding into the hair behind Harry's ear. "Where's he gone?"

Harry wants to hit him but instead he laughs, loud and bright. Everyone around them shoots him dirty looks but Nick just smiles at him like he's special. Wanted.

Loved.

 

The magical happily-ever-after feelings of love vanish once Harry's away from Nick and alone in his room reading over his notes. There seems to be millions of them, all very vague and badly spelled. 

After an hour of staring at his notes and willing himself to understand, Harry resorts to crying about his feelings. He bundles himself up to go down to the cornerstore and comes back with ice cream and crisps. By the time Niall comes in he's watching an episode of _Black Books_ and has eaten half the ice cream.

"Hiya," Niall says, kicking off his shoes haphazardly. He drops his bag down on his bed and thumps down next to Harry. "How are we doing?"

"Terrible," Harry mutters from within the blanket burrito he's built himself. "I'm going to fail all of my midterms."

"Oh," Niall says. He opens the bag of crisps with his teeth and throws a handful in his mouth. 

"Also I've run out of tissues."

"From wanking?"

"From crying," Harry says, sniffling a little bit. He wants Niall to feel sorry for him because it's lonely feeling sorry for himself all alone. "It's been a long day."

"Mm," Niall puts his arm around Harry-the-blanket-burrito and starts to pet his hair. "I'm sure everything's going to fine, Haz."

On the screen Dylan Moran kicks some people out of his bookstore. Harry wishes his life was that simple. 

 

The Sunday before his first midterm he appears on Nick's doorstep unannounced with a bag of groceries in one hand. He's been jittery since ten, feeling wired and weird, so he hopped on a bus away from his books. 

"Hi," he says to Gillian when she opens the door. "Nick in?"

"He just popped out to grab a coffee with Pixie," Gillian tells him, pulling the door wide. Harry steps in. "You can stay until he comes back."

"Thanks," Harry slides his shoes off and smiles at her. She's always been so nice to him, never treating him like a first year like some of Nick's other friends do. "I wanted to make banana bread, but I don't have a stove in my room."

"That sounds amazing," Gillian says, grabbing the grocery bag from his hand and leading him down the small corridor to the tiny kitchen. Henry's sitting at the table with a sketchbook, a mess of pencils in front of him.

"Hello Harry," he says, pleasantly. 

"Harry's going to make us banana bread," Gillian tells him, resting the grocery bag down on the counter and taking the spot next to Henry at the table. 

"I don't know what kind of magic spell Grimmy is doing on you," Henry says, sketching the bodice of a dress. "But it's certainly strong if a boy like you is dating a prick like him."

Harry laughs, then blushes, then takes out the large mixing bowl from the top shelf and gets to work. 

 

Nick gets back from lunch an hour later, by which time Harry's started on some shortbread. The banana bread is nearly all gone and Henry's retired to the couch for a nap. 

He looks confused to see Harry in the kitchen but gives him a kiss on the temple nonetheless. "Did we have plans today?"

"Nope," Harry says, stirring in some vanilla extract. He wonders if he could convince Nick to pop out and get him some more butter. Harry wants to make a pie. 

"Have a slice of banana bread, Grimmy," Gillian says from where she's been bent over a book all afternoon. "It's the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. Henry had about six pieces and had to lye down."

Harry beams. While he'd always known that Nick's flatmates didn't dislike him, it's nice to properly charm them over. 

"Sorry about all this," Harry says as he grabs a sheet of parchment paper. He rolls out the cookie dough and smushes it down with his fingers. "I'll clean up the mess, I promise."

"It's fine," Nick says, coming up next to Harry and wrapping a hand around his hip. "What brought on this baking frenzy?"

"Nervous about midterms," Harry says, pressing down on the dough so it's reasonably equal all the way across. "I bake when I'm nervous. Is that weird?"

"A little," Nick bumps his hip against Harry's. "But it's also really fucking awesome." 

Nick's lips press against Harry's cheek before he meanders off to grab a piece of banana bread, starting in on a story about his and Pixie's lunch. 

Harry cuts his shortbread into little rectangles, pops them in the oven, and then turns around for the flour, thinking about whipping up some éclairs. 

 

Harry walks out of his midterm feeling useless and devoid of all emotion. He can barely feel Zayn's hand on his shoulder, the two of them silent as they shake feeling back into their fingers.

"Well," Zayn says as they exit the building. "That could have been, uh, worse."

"I don't even remember my own name," Harry says, blinking. "I don't remember anything. Did we just take an exam? I don't know because I can't remember. All I can remember is two hours of darkness."

"It wasn't so bad," Zayn says, sliding a beanie over his hair.

"Was _Sonnet 132_ about a sense of longing or am I making that up?" Harry asks. Zayn doesn't meet his eye and Harry groans. Shit. 

It's drizzling outside, enough that Harry puts his hood up and sticks his hands into his sweater. He wants Indian food. And maybe for Nick to kiss his face for an hour and say nice things. 

"I want to sleep for a million years," Harry tells Zayn and Zayn nods, trying desperately to light a cigarette. "No really, Zayn, I'm going to sleep for a million years. You and Niall can't have sex because I need to sleep. For a million years."

Zayn smolders at him. It's very affective. 

"Fine," Harry pouts, shivering a bit. "Have your sex cave, see if I care. I'll just stay over at Nick's. Traitor."

"Speaking of," Zayn juts his chin out and Harry looks across the street to see Nick - standing under a store awning with a pot of flowers in his hands and a friend at his side.

Harry tilts his head in confusion and stares at the flower pot. 

"What?" he asks but Zayn's already tugging him across the street. Harry's pretty useless, not checking to see if he's about to get run over because he's too busy thinking about question four and Wyatt's sonnets and whether or not the plant is for him. 

"Hiya," Nick says with a smile when they reach him. His eyes are sparkly and wonderful but Harry can't look away from the plant for long enough to appreciate them. "You remember Florence?"

Harry senses Zayn nodding and saying hello and mentioning that he knew her from somewhere, didn't he? They prattle on about art or dinosaurs or something while Harry stares at the plant in Nick's hands. 

It's small and cute and has tiny pink flowers at the end of its thick plant leaves. 

"Y'alright, love?" Nick asks, one of his hands moving off the flower pot and onto Harry's cheek. He feels himself unconsciously nudge into the warmth. "How was the exam?"

Harry makes a garbled sort of noise and looks up. Nick's eyes are open and a little worried. "Whose plant is that?"

"Oh," Nick looks down like he forgot all about it. Harry stares at the sweet little blue pot and then back up at Nick's face, his long nose and freckles. "I got it for you."

"What?" It's possible Harry is losing his mind. It's possible this is all a dream.

"I, erm-" Nick's cheeks turn an ashy pink. Harry stares. "I bought it for you."

"You bought me a plant," Harry says, staring blankly at the assortment in front of him.

"Yeah," Nick says. His eyes are wide and embarrassed. 

Harry wants to jump on him. So he does (kind of).

"Woah," Nick yelps against his mouth as Harry attacks it. He's careful to not hurt the plant but his arms have a mind of their own, wrapping around Nick's neck and refusing to let go. "Harry – wait – _Harry_ -"

"Thank you so much," Harry cries, aware of Zayn and Florence still chatting next to them. "Nick, fuck, this has been the longest day and I'm so tired and - and you bought me a plant."

"It's not a big deal," he's averting his eyes. Harry tightens his arms around Nick's neck. 

"Shut up, of course it is," Harry kisses Nick twice, quick. He feels him shiver underneath him and frowns. "Are you cold?"

"Uh – no, I'm okay –" 

Harry lets go of Nick to unravel his own scarf, the hand knitted one his nan gave him for his sixteenth birthday. He winds it around Nick's neck instead, knotting it carefully in the front. 

"There," Harry says, tucking the ends into the front of his coat. "That's better isn't it."

Nick's face is flushed pink. He clears his throat and nods down to the plant still in his hands, "Alexa says they're good for stress." 

Harry wants to say it then. He wants to so badly but he kisses Nick once more instead and then carefully takes the plant from him. 

"Thank you," he says, nosing into Nick's cheek. 

"You're welcome," Nick says when Harry pulls back. He's blushed and his voice is quiet like it never is.

 

When they burst into Nick's flat afterwards – hands roaming and clothes flying and Nick's hushed whisper of _Gellz and Henry are out tonight_ \- Harry only stops for a second to place his plant in the centre of the kitchen table before connecting his lips with Nick's once more.

 

"You ever think of modelling for one of those art classes?" Nick asks him the next morning while Harry's frying them up some eggs.

"No," Harry says, blushing. His lips are still bruised from the night before, the by product of blowing Nick twice, eating extra spicy Tandoori chicken, and then sucking on Nick's fingers for the entirety of Graham Norton. He runs his finger over them while he pokes at the eggs. 

"It'd be a socially acceptable place to get your kit off," Nick says, flipping through the newspaper that Gillian subscribes to. "I know you're always looking for those."

"Sometimes I model in Zayn's movies," Harry shrugs, flipping their eggs onto the Disney princess plates that he helped Nick buy.

"Didn't think acting was your specialty."

"He just told me to sit around and look pretty."

"Well you're fucking fantastic at that," Nick says, pulling out Harry's chair for him. Harry can feel the flush spread down his neck as he sets down the plates. "This looks amazing, love."

Harry watches Nick split his yoke with a piece of toast and then glances at his little plant, still sitting at the centre of the table. It seems to smile at him, a little friendly reminder of Nick's affection. He smiles back at it and digs into his food, stopping only to scoot his chair a little closer to Nick's. 

 

And when they finish their eggs and Nick's leaning back in his chair, Harry forgets about his swollen, used lips and gets down on his knees again. He would give Nick the moon if he could, but for now he'll just have to settle for another blowjob. 

 

Halloween is on a Monday, which is shit, so Aimee holds a massive thing at her flat on the Saturday night. Despite Harry's best pleas and biggest puppy dog eyes Nick refuses to be one half of an alpaca. 

Harry's had to take matters into his own hands.

"Are you a flower?" Ian asks as he hands Harry the rum and coke he requested. Ian's dressed up as a pirate, which is a charming look. 

"A sunflower, actually," Harry plucks at the flower petals around his face. They stuck out at odd angles but worked as a kind of headband, so Harry is happy. Niall even painted little brown dots on his cheeks. 

"Cool," Ian says, still looking a little confused. 

"Nick's a gardener," Harry says, taking a sip of his drink. 

As if hooked up to radar, Nick appears at his side. He tucks an arm around Harry's waist and makes a general humming noise. 

"I was just telling Ian about our costume," Harry says, preening just a little. Nick's been calling him lovely nicknames all night and he's eager to hear more. 

"Aw, yes," Nick says, holding up a watering pot. He's also got on some wellies and has a spade in his back pocket. "Do you like it then, young Chaloner? Jealous of our hilarious jokes?"

"Always," Ian replies, rolling his eyes. Nick grins at him. 

They get royally smashed. Daisy hands out these pot brownies she made and then Aimee wheels out the jello shots and then Greg challenges Harry to a game of beer pong. He loses his flower headdress somewhere along the lines so his costume just becomes a green tshirt and brown skinny jeans.

At four in the morning Nick commandeers the couch for them and then demands to be spooned. Harry cuddles in close to Nick's back, feeling nauseous and tired and happy. 

 

On the actual day of Halloween Harry gets Niall to do his face up like a cat. He walks around like that through all of his classes, black beanie over his curls to match his all black ensemble. He's still tired from the weekend but it's not an exhaustion yet, so he's still doing okay. 

He goes over to Nick's later on to make dinner, where Nick makes fun of his face paint until Harry smudges their noses together so he's got some too. They eat pasta with pesto and mushrooms while watching _Bake Off_. 

Afterwards, when Harry's lying naked under Nick, they hit a little road block.

"Shit," Nick says when he's pulled back from fingering Harry. 

"What?" Harry asks, squirming. He needed Nick to be fucking him five minutes ago. "What is it, Grim?"

"I forgot to pick up condoms," Nick bites his lip, looking around his room as if for inspiration. 

"Don't worry about it," Harry says, pressing the heel of his foot against Nick's bum in the hope that he would catch the hint. "Just do it without one."

"Harry," Nick says, shaking his head. "Come on."

"I'm serious, Nick," Harry fumbles down and grabs Nick's cock. He shudders above him and Harry grins. "You're clean, I'm clean. I already swallow your jizz, what's the big deal?"

Nick's still biting his lip, looking torn so Harry makes the decision for him.

He rolls onto his stomach careful, rocking up a bit on his knees. He spreads his legs and looks over one shoulder, grinning back at Nick. He shifts back and forth, making himself look as open and wanton as he can. 

"Come on, Grim," Harry moans, moving one hand back to spread his hole open. He drops one finger into himself and groans. 

"Holy fuck," Nick chokes.

"Fuck me," Harry says, arching his back.

A second later Nick's hands are on his waist and the blunt head of his cock is pushing into Harry, stretching him wide and making him grin. 

 

November is wet and awful. Harry's mum sends him a package full of warm, woollen sweaters and a box of tea. Niall gets a cold and Harry spends the week fetching him soup and making sure he gets to bed on time. He has two essays and a test which he freaks out over and then finishes at four in the morning, just before they're due. 

 

Nick hates films and Niall would rather party than sit down for an hour and half, so when the new Hunger Games comes out on Netflix Harry watches it with Zayn. 

They cuddle close on Harry's skinny bed, laptop balanced on their knees. Zayn teases him when Mags dies but fuck him because Harry didn't cry he just got a little weepy, that's all. 

"No plans with Nick tonight?" Zayn asks when the credits are playing and Netflix is suggesting similar movies. 

"No plans with Niall?" Harry asks back and then shrugs at Zayn's eyebrow. "Nah, he's going to his friend's deejay set in Manchester."

"Didn't want to go?"

"Couldn't really afford to," Harry says, shifting his head back until it hits Zayn's lap and Zayn starts stroking through his hair. 

"You guys are spending a lot of time together," Zayn says, his fingers itching under Harry's ear. His toes curl. "Practically every day, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry says happily. He thinks about the tentative plans they have for tomorrow and smiles. "It's so great. _He's_ so great. It's just hard to go out so much, you know? I'm running out of money from the summer."

"You probably spend a hundred a week on condoms alone," Zayn says, winking when Harry looks up. Harry rolls his eyes.

"Ha ha," he says, turning his face more securely into Zayn's lap. It's warm and lovely and he never wants to leave. "Don't spend anything on them, dingbat. I just mean like, bread and stuff. Bread is expensive when you have no money."

"Yeah," Zayn says. "But like – what, you steal condoms from the welcome baskets around campus?"

"What?" Harry's losing the plot of this whole conversation slightly. He just wants to be petted and amused. 

"I know you guys go at it like fucking rabbits," Zayn says dryly, pulling on Harry's hair, which is uncalled for. It's not like Harry _meant_ for Zayn to walk in that one time when he was going down on Nick. "So how do you manage to steal enough?"

"We just don't use them," Harry mutters, his whole body feeling slack. He feels like he could fall asleep at any time. 

"Pardon?"

"We don't use them," Harry repeats a little louder, wondering if he could telepathically tell Zayn to tug the duvet up over him. He wants to sleep for a million years and then eat some ice cream and kiss Nick. "Now be quiet, want to sleep."

"Wait," Zayn says, stopping the movement of his hand in Harry's hair; Harry can't help but take that as an offence against his very being and whines. 

" _Zayn_ ," he says but Zayn tugs him up so they're sitting side by side. Harry slumps against the wall and squints at him. "What?"

"You and Nick aren't using protection anymore?" he asks, only blushing a little bit. Harry smirks. 

"Why're you so interested, you pervert," Harry says, sidling closer but Zayn pushes him back with one hand. 

"Don't make a joke out of this," Zayn says, his eyes serious.

Harry shrugs. "Not usually. Sometimes if we don't want to like – clean up, but. No."

"Since when?"

Harry looks down at his nails and bites at the skin around them. He mumbles around his finger, "Halloween."

"Harry," Zayn scolds. 

"I don't get what the big deal is," Harry says, petulantly, wishing Zayn would go back to petting his hair. He would never have mentioned it if he knew it was going to turn into such a thing. "It's none of your business, anyway."

"How long have you guys been dating?" Harry looks away from Zayn's gaze.

"Since the beginning of the year," Harry says because it sounds longer than _two months_. "It's not a big deal, okay? We're both, like, clean."

"Are you completely, one hundred percent sure about that?" Zayn asks. "Did you see his tests?"

"What is this about?" Harry asks, moving farther away from Zayn on the bed. "Do you not like Nick or something? Is that it?"

"I like Nick just fine," his calm tone pisses Harry off, makes him squirm. "I just don't think you should put so much trust in someone you've known for two months."

"But I do trust him," Harry says, his fingers clenching in the sheets. "I trust him a lot. And I'm pretty sure I'm in love with him. And I don't want anyone else and neither does he, so- so I don't see what the problem is?"

Zayn doesn't look at him right away and Harry tries to calm his heart down. He hates being mad, hates being sharp at people, especially people that matter to him. 

"I just want you to be careful, babes," Zayn says, eventually, curling his hand into Harry's hair. Harry holds still for a minute before sliding down into Zayn's lap, curling up like a kitten once more. 

"I am careful," Harry says, lulled slightly by the rhythmic pull of Zayn's fingers through his hair. "I promise."

 

The next night when he's under Nick, tilting his hips up to his thrusts, he thinks about what Zayn said. Thinks that maybe he should be more careful, that he shouldn't trust Nick so much, that he should keep his heart farther out of reach.

But when Nick comes inside him he kisses Harry and whispers, "So gorgeous, fuck, you're beautiful" and Harry can't help but melt into the sheets. 

Harry never got anywhere in life being careful; he isn't about to start now.

 

Usually their date nights consist of take away and shitty television (or a board game, if it's Harry's turn to choose), but this week Nick insists on a nice dinner at a semi-fancy restaurant off-campus. 

Harry's excitement lasts all day through his lectures, walking back to residence, and climbing up the million stairs to get to his and Niall's room. Nick and he don't really go out too often, what with being poor uni students, so tonight is going to be special.

"Which jumper do you think is more fancy, Niall?" Harry asks as he peers at the two on his bed. As December approaches Harry finds himself shivering more and more. He's not made for cold weather, not really, so it's been sweater-weather since mid-October.

"The brown one," Niall says, not looking up from his textbook. He took a class in geology because he needed a science credit and 'rocks are cool', but it's since bitten him in the ass with hard work. Sometimes Harry can't really believe he exists.

"Really?" Harry asks, holding it up to himself. "Brown doesn't seem like a great date colour."

"People should wear brown more," Niall says, drumming two pens on his desk. 

Harry slides the sweater on and steps into his jeans. He puts on a beanie, his mittens, a scarf, two pairs of socks, his boots, and his black peacoat. He's still a little cold.

"If things go well I'll see you tomorrow," Harry says as he stuffs his room key in his pocket. Niall grins at him and shoos him out the door. 

He has to take a bus to get to the closest metro station. The ride is bumpy and the bus is cold, but he distracts himself by listening to a bopping mix of 90's pop music that Nick made him. By the time they arrive at the station he's halfway through Len's Steal My Sunshine and he can just see Nick standing in front of the entrance, waiting like he said he would. 

Harry greets him with a kiss and then slides his hands into Nick's warm pockets, nosing into Nick's warm neck.

"Oi," Nick says, trying to squirm away from Harry's cold nose. "Bloody leech."

"Hey," Harry grins, nipping at Nick's jaw. "Missed you."

Nick's hand curls around his in the pocket. He hums. 

"Come on," he says after a minute of silence wherein Harry reacquaints himself with the curve of Nick's shoulder. "Don't want to be late for the reservation."

"Reservation?" Harry grins as Nick links their fingers together and pulls him through the thick door of the tube station. "Oooh la la."

"Ungrateful child," Nick mutters under his breath.

 

The restaurant has waiters in white waistcoats and black jackets. There are serviettes shaped like swans on each table and everyone sitting is in a suit.

"Nick," Harry whines, eyes wide as he tries to take in everything around him. "You didn't tell me it was this fancy."

He tugs his collar. Nick snatches his hand and pulls him along.

"You look fine," Nick says (in his blazer and button down, Harry can't help but notice).

"Fine?"

"Great."

"Great?"

"The absolute hottest anyone's ever looked," Nick says leaning over to kiss Harry on the nose. "Now come on, I'm starving."

Nick pulls Harry's chair out for him and then shuffles it in awkwardly once he's sat. The waiter smiles primly at them and asks for their choice of wine. It's all so fancy and lovely and nice that Harry feels like he's in a dream. 

"This place is so fancy, Nick," Harry whispers once the waiter's gone away. There are little candles on the table, next to a tall vase with a rose in it. He has three types of forks. 

"Oh," Nick says, face looking uncertain. "Is it too much? Do you want to go somewhere else?" 

Harry shakes his head a few times. "No, no. It's great. I love it."

"Good," Nick hooks his ankle around the back of Harry's leg under the table. He looks down at the menu. "I'm glad."

They're quiet as they both search through the menu which is odd but not unheard of. When Nick goes through the menu at Nandos he usually has comment about every single item and why he doesn't like the chicken in the wraps and how one time he got the peri-peri sauce and there was a weird lump in it. It's not that Harry doesn't enjoy the silence, it's just strange that's all. 

He decides on mushroom ravioli. Nick's still scanning his own menu when Harry looks up so he eats some of the free bread and watches the couple next to them argue about their son's report card. 

The waiter jots down their requests and Nick finally opens his mouth and starts talking. He tells Harry all about what Fiona did the other day and how Matt Fincham's been trying a gluten free diet and how Aimee found the most embarrassing photo of Ian. 

Harry's halfway through scavenging the bread basket when Nick stops talking for the sake of talking and gets to the meat of the dinner.

"Um," Nick says as Harry's gnawing on the hard crust of the end nub. Nick's looking at his mouth and it takes a second for his poor, hungry student mind to realize he probably looks a little odd. He takes the piece of bread out of his mouth. It's soggy. 

"Sorry," Harry blushes. He never used to blush before he met Nick. 

"You good?" Nick asks, a little light in his eyes. 

"Yep," Harry wipes a hand across his face, catching at crumbs. He wills the flush on his cheeks to go down. "What's up?"

"Oh," now Nick's looking down, his cheeks pink. His foot freezes from where it's been skidding across the back of Harry's calf all evening. "Um. Well. It's not a big deal."

Harry waits. 

Nick fiddles with his fork and says, "I just wanted to. Well."

"Okay," Harry says. He slides his non-crummy hand to hold Nick's over the table. "Love, what is it?"

"I was talking to my mum yesterday," Nick says, looking down at the table. Harry bites his lip, waiting for him to continue. "I told her about you. And like, this."

"You did?" Harry asks, feeling a little light headed. He told his own mum about Nick eight minutes after their first date but this. This is a big deal.

Nick nods. 

"Well," Harry says, feeling a wide smile spread across his face. He squeezes Nick's hand. "That's awfully romantic of you, Nicholas."

"That's-" Nick is suddenly very intrigued by the table centrepiece. Harry's brow furrows. "She wanted me to. Um."

"What?"

"Do you want to come to mine for Christmas?" Nick asks in a rush. 

Harry blinks.

"OhmygoshI'msosorry," Nick says, hands flying around his face. He nearly knocks over the vase and then laughs hysterically. "Never mind, oh my, what a ridiculous idea. Mothers, am I right. Stupid. Dumb."

"What?" Harry mind is a little stuck.

"Here," Nick steals the bread basket off the empty table next to them and brandishes it in Harry's face. "Eat some more bread. You like bread don't you."

"Nick," Harry swats the bread basket away. "Nick I don't want anymore bread."

"Fine," Nick says, voice still hysterical. He has one hand in his hair now and its twisting it up to astronomical heights. "I'll eat some bread. Love bread, me. Makes the world go round. Nothing I love more than a bit of bread," he grabs a slice and butters it, "yum, yum, bread time, what a good day."

Nick pops the piece of bread in his mouth. He chews. 

Harry, who has finally gotten the plot back, opens his mouth slowly. "Wait. Did you just invite me over to yours for Christmas?"

Nick makes a strangled noise from behind all the bread stuffed in his mouth. 

" _Nicholas_ ," Harry cries, grabbing Nick's hands from where they're fidgeting on the table. He can feel his eyes growing cow-like and his smile spread. "Nick, Nick, Nick, oh my god."

"I take it back," Nick chokes out as he swallows. His hands tug on Harry's but Harry doesn't let go. "Never mind, I take it back."

"You can't take it back!" Harry sing songs. "You invited me over for Christmas. You want me to meet your _family_. You want to kiss me under the mistletoe."

"Shhh," Nick says, blushing. His hands are still half heartedly pulling away from Harry. 

"We'll do Christmas Eve at mine, and then go to yours Christmas day," Harry says, already planning trip in his head. "I'll bake some mince pies to take up to your mum, would she like that? Or is she more of a pudding type?"

Nick puts his head down on the table. 

"Nick?"

"She makes her own pud," Nick mutters into the cloth. Harry pats his head. 

"Okay, so I don't need to worry about that," Harry says, wondering if his mum could help make him a trifle to bring. And if they could borrow Robin's car to drive up to Oldham with so they wouldn't have to take the train. "Is anyone in your family allergic to anything? I could make some gingerbread, but I don't want to kill someone."

Nick makes a noise that Harry interprets as a negative. He taps at Nick's hand, head in the land of tinsel and wrapping paper when-

"Oh no, and I'll have to get everyone a present. Does your mum like tea cosies?" 

"Tea cosies?" Nick asks, raising his head from the table. He's got a little red indent on his forehead. 

"Niall's mum sends him cut-outs from this woman's magazine she's subscribed to and there was a tea cosy tutorial on one of them," Harry says, hoping Niall didn't throw that one out. "It probably wouldn't be too hard to knit."

Nick's looking at him very strangely. His eyes are soft and glowing and they make Harry's toes curl up in his boots.

"What?" he asks, feeling a flush spread across his cheeks. "What is it?"

Nick shakes his head. "Come here."

"Why?" 

"Come here."

Harry leans across the table. Nick kisses him slowly, one hand on Harry's cheek, thumb brushing under his eye. It makes Harry's chest feel like it's on fire. 

They pull back after a minute, just far enough for Harry to justify brushing their noses together. 

"What was that for?" he asks.

"Nothing," Nick says, pulling back.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

 

They feed each other tiramisu for dessert. Nick whines through the whole thing that he's not a _child_ while Harry tries not to laugh at every word he says. He feels drunk on Nick, floaty and happy.

The outside wind stings at their cheeks but when Nick adjusts Harry's scarf it makes him all warm inside.

"Now," Nick says when they're cuddled together just outside of the restaurant. "Unlike that disgusting seafood dish at dinner-"

"It wasn't that bad," Harry says, as he's the one who ate most of it when Nick complained about it. Nick was making sad eyes at Harry's ravioli so they swapped plates. 

"-unlike that disgusting meal," Nick continues, ignoring Harry's eyeroll. "You look absolutely ravishing."

"Shut up," Harry says, blushing.

"I only tell the truth, Styles," Nick grins like he only does when he knows he's being charming. "So. Where are we doing this?"

"Doing what?" Harry asks, knowing perfectly well what. 

"You know perfectly well what," Nick says. Harry smiles and flutters his eyelashes about. "Henry's got friends over to work on this design thing tonight and he told me he'd kill me if he had to hear you moaning through the walls again."

"Hey," Harry says, a little offended. "My moans are wonderful."

Nick hums and buries his face in Harry's neck. Harry shivers.

"Well," he says, brow furrowed. "I think Niall was planning on staying in, so I doubt my room is an option."

"God, roommates are the worst," Nick groans. Harry can't help but imagine a world in which they own a little place with a fire escape window and a noisy radiator and a charming yet tyrannical landlord. He sighs under his breath dreamily.

Nick pokes him in the side and his daydream slips away.

"Oi," Harry says, poking Nick back. "Okay. Um. Hold on."

 

It takes Harry three minutes to get Nick to stop tickling long enough to make the call. Zayn complains about being tired but in the end he agrees to invite Niall over for a night of sexual debauchery. 

Harry gets a single text on the way to the bus stop. He jostles Nick's arm from where it's wrapped tight around his shoulder to read it. 

_don't fuck on my bed_.

Harry grins.

 

The bus ride feels shorter than usual with Nick by his side, his hands in Nick's coat pockets as they stand. Nick tells him a story about Fincham knocking over a mug of coffee the other day at the studio, and Harry feels so bright he could burst. The girl across from them is reading _Beowulf_ but she smiles at them when Harry reaches up to kiss Nick (again) because he can't help himself.

"You look amazing in brown," Nick tells him as they enter the residence building. Ron, the security guard behind the desk, waves them both through easily. "Did I tell you that already?"

"Nope," Harry says, linking their fingers as they walk up the stairs. He thinks about the first time he brought Nick here and how he had to guide him. It's not like that anymore. Nick knows his way and it makes Harry's stomach bubble. 

"Well you do," Nick says, holding open the stairwell door for Harry. Harry grins up at him. "Unreasonably good. You should wear brown more often."

"That's what Niall said."

"Niall's a smart lad."

Harry presses himself against his dorm room door and lets Nick loom over him. Just down the hall there are a group of girls ready for a night out and they chat enthusiastically as they pass by. Nick slides his hand into Harry's back pocket and draws out his ring of keys.

"Did you have a good night?" he asks.

"The best," Harry says, staring at Nick's mouth. 

Nick turns him gently, shifting it so he's draped over Harry as he slides the key into the lock. Harry revels in Nick's arms around him and leans back on his chest, feeling so lucky. 

He's going to meet Nick's _parents_. Surely that meant that Nick has to love him, even a little bit. 

They fall into Harry's room and onto his bed. They're both wearing so many layers that for a few minutes it's just uncomfortable and awkward. But then Nick pulls off Harry shirt and Harry pulls off Nick's jeans and they stumble their way to the bed, laughing.

Harry lies back while Nick fingers him. He turns his head into the pillow when Nick starts stretching out his fingers, half because he's overwhelmed and half because he knows Nick loves watching Harry be overwhelmed. He thrashes around a bit when Nick starts to really push in, hard and quick and just edging on painful.

"Nick," Harry gasps, feeling like his heart could break out of his chest at any second. His lungs feel thick and heavy. 

Nick hums into his thighs and bites down gently. Harry feels his legs spread further and takes a second to think about how his whole body was so easy for Nick.

Harry groans as he bites down on his swollen, achey lips. Surely life can't get better than this?

"God you're loud," Nick pants, driving his fingers in once more before easing them out. Harry feels them curl around his hip instead and he tries not to squirm in delight at how filthy that is. 

"You love it."

"So much," Nick says, grinning. 

Harry grins back. "Oh hey, can I ride you?"

"I've never heard a stupider question in my life," Nick says, already trying to manoeuvre himself so he was under Harry. " _Can I ride you_? Honestly. As if there were any answer other than 'fuck yes'."

"Maybe it was a rhetorical question," Harry says as he scooches back to the very edge of the bed, pressing himself against the wall so Nick could lye down. 

"Ooooh, rhetorical question, look at you."

"Shut up," Harry says, unable to stop smiling. He climbs up so he's hovering over Nick, knees on either side of his hips. A little thrill goes through his stomach. Most nights he's content to lie back and take it, but tonight he wants Nick to feel overwhelmed. 

"Make me."

Harry shrugs and then seats himself directly onto Nick's cock, letting it slide into him with ease.

"Holy fuck," Nick chokes out and Harry grins distractedly as he shifts to get more comfortable. Nick's cock was filling him up so good but it was just on the wrong side of - _ah_ , there it goes.

"What was that, Nicholas?" Harry asks, circling his hips in a slow grind. Fuck but he loves the feeling of Nick inside him. "I didn't hear that, could you speak up?"

"Move please," Nick says, hands on Harry's hips, and Harry is only too happy to oblige. 

The bed creaks as they move, a loud squeaking that echoes through the room. It's only slightly masked by Nick's loud breathing and disjointed speech, because he's never learned to shut up so why would sex be any different. 

Harry moans like sin, like a vixen as Nick once told him after a particularly good fuck in the toilets next to the English department. He's shameless in sex, always has been, because his mother told him to have confidence in everything he did.

He shifts up a bit on Nick's cock and stops thinking about his mother, choosing instead to sneak a finger to where they're joined together. He loves feeling himself swallowing Nick up, loves to tuck a finger in alongside Nick just to watch his eyes roll back and feel his whispered _fuck, Harry_. 

"God, Nick," Harry groans, thighs on fire from the effort of rocking up and down. Nick's leaving little marks on Harry's neck, ones he knows he'll be able to feel in the morning. "Nick, Nick, oh my - _Nick_ -"

"Shhh," Nick whispers, biting at Harry's ear. "Shh, baby."

Harry slips on a down stroke and elbows Nick in the stomach. 

"Ow," Nick winces. "Jesus, Styles."

"Sorry," Harry whispers, placing his hands on either side of Nick's face instead. "You okay?"

"Mmm," Nick says, eyes half lidded and so so hot. "Let me help you, love."

Nick's hands come around Harry's hips and heave him up and down faster, knocking the breath out of Harry's lungs. His toes curl, fingers twisting deep into Nick's hair as he arches back.

"Does that feel good, babe?" Nick asks.

"Yes," Harry whimpers. He feels good and sore and _used_. His knee almost slides off the edge of his stupidly small bed, but one of Nick's hands catches it. When he lets go it burns. 

"How good, love?"

"So good," Harry circles his hips and grins when Nick's hands tighten. It slides off his face when Nick thrusts up, turning into a gasp instead. " _Nick_ , fuck-"

It's while Nick's mouthing at his tiny nipples that a loud knock comes from the door.

Harry, squirming something fierce on Nick's cock and an inch away from coming, looks over his shoulder to peer at the door in the dark. It couldn't be Niall already.

"Excuse me," comes a voice from behind the door. "I live down the hall and I can hear you fucking from there. Do you mind keeping it down? It's like, two am and I have a class tomorrow."

Nick's eyes are huge when Harry turns back around to look at him. He's gaping. Harry giggles. 

"Sorry!" he yells back as Harry shifts his face into Nick's neck, unable to stop laughing. "We'll try to be quieter."

"Thanks," the voice comes back, short and tired. 

"Oh my god," Nick says, hand coming up to cup the back of Harry's head. "You little minx."

Harry giggles until he can't breathe anymore. He lets Nick rolls them over, shuffling a bit because the bed's so small, and laughs as Nick fucks into him again and again. He comes with one hand tight in Nick's hair, his leg hitched up around his hips, lips pressed to Nick's with a smile.

They lie together afterwards, Nick's breath still a little heavy and Harry still chuckling a bit. He can feel Nick's come trickling out of him and it's just on the line between really hot and really gross. He toys with the idea of going for a quick shower when Nick wraps an arm around his waist.

"God, you're brilliant," Nick whispers into his hair. Harry blushes red.

"Yeah?"

"Mmm," Nick says, breath evening out. Harry rests his head on Nick's chest and feels his heart beat against his cheek. "Y'alright?"

Harry's warm and sated and next to a boy, _the_ boy. He kisses Nick's chest and cuddles in.

"I'm perfect," he says, smiling, as sleep takes him.

 

The walk of shame down to the dining hall the morning after is as awkward as they expect it to be. A girl on Harry's floor gives him a dirty look when they take the elevator down together. 

"Not making any friends this morning, are we?" Nick asks as they follow her out. His hand fits snug in the small of Harry's waist and it makes him light up like a bumble bee. 

"Suppose not," Harry says. He stops Nick with a hand. "I'm getting salad, you stand in line for the pancakes and hash browns."

"Ugh, salad," Nick says, grimace on his face. "I don't want salad."

"C'mon Grim," Harry says, poking him to go stand in the already lengthy hot food line. "You need to eat more vegetables."

"You think I'm fat."

"I think you're perfect," Harry says. "Now please go stand in line and I'll meet up with you in a bit, okay?"

Nick grumbles but does as he's told. Harry smiles and peruses through the salad bar, picking up little tomatoes and cucumber slices because he knows Nick likes them. 

They join up at a table in the back near a big window. There's a cool draft coming in, which is how Harry justifies gluing himself to Nick's person. He doesn't want to get sick and _die_ , so sue him.

"Mmm," Harry says, tucked under Nick's arm. He stabs a cucumber slice with his fork and pops one into his mouth. He does the same and feeds it to Nick. "What a lovely morning this is shaping up to be."

Nick smirks at him, tugging him a little bit closer. Harry refuses to blush because he refuses to be ashamed of blowing Nick awake. He was tired and horny and Nick's cock was just lying there, what's a boy to do?

"Oh hey," Nick says, cutting a triangle of pancake and stuffing it into his mouth. "They had this spinach pie thing so I got you a slice."

Harry looks up at him, confused. "Why?"

Now Nick looks confused. "You ordered spinach pie that one time that we went out with Aimee and Ian, remember? When Ian got so drunk you had to tie his shoes for him and then we found that little diner on Queen, remember?"

"Yeah," Harry says, staring at the little cluster of freckles near Nick's eyebrow and then down at the piece of pie on the edge of his tray. "Yeah, I remember."

"Okay," Nick says. He coughs. "Good."

"Thank you," Harry says, sliding it towards himself. He takes a bite of it and smiles. 

 

Harry doesn't notice anything different at the time. His life is so full with schoolwork and Nick that he doesn't take in that he keeps cancelling plans with the boys until Niall tells him.

"Hey," he says one Thursday night just after Harry gets back from a later class. "I'm playing a show tonight at that pub on campus, you want to come?"

"Oh," Harry says, biting his lip. "I promised Nick I'd go to his deejay set tonight. I'm sorry Nialler."

Niall looks down and then back up again, eyes hard. "You know, you've been spending a lot of time with Nick lately."

"So?" Harry asks, looking in his wardrobe for the shirt he wants. It's Nick's shirt originally he's pretty sure, but that hardly means anything. "We are dating, Ni."

"I'm aware," Niall says, rolling his eyes. "I just mean that you're spending every waking minute with this guy. Don't you want to hang out with someone else ever?"

"Of course," Harry says, brow furrowed. "And I do. I hang out with other people all the time."

"Nick's friends don't count."

"What does it matter?" Harry asks. "Why are you upset over this?"

"Zayn misses you," Niall says, standing up now. "Louis too. We haven't gone out all of us, in a month."

"It hasn't been that long."

"Has so."

"Look," Harry says, buttoning up the shirt he wants quickly. "I like Nick a lot, okay? And I'm sorry, but the next time you want me to come to something, you have to let me know ahead of time. Okay?"

Niall bites his lip. He shrugs. "Yeah. Sure."

Harry looks down. He wrings out his hands. "Okay. Well I'll be going then."

"Have a good time," Niall says, sitting back down on his bed. He doesn't look up when Harry closes the door behind him. 

 

A week later Harry and Nick are in bed. Harry's happy and giggly and hot. Nick's braced over him and he's smiling and his hair is falling into his face and Harry loves him, loves him so much. 

He doesn't think before he speaks: "I'm in love with you."

Nick freezes. 

Harry wants to hit himself, wants to stuff a sock down his own throat and never speak again. There's a difference between things you think in a moment of romance and things you say out loud to the boy you've been dating for a little over three months.

"Um," Harry whispers as Nick moves off him, face still shut down. "Shit, Nick, I was..."

He can't finish the sentence because his hands are turning colder and his chest feels weird when Nick's hand isn't around his waist. He takes a deep breath and tries to smile, sliding closer to where Nick is sat on the edge of the bed. 

"I was just kidding," Harry says, forcing his voice to be light. What the fuck was he thinking. "You know how I get when things get romantic, I can't help myself.

Nick looks up at him. Harry takes a deep breath.

"I know that, I know that it's hard for you to say things," Harry says. "And I didn't mean to scare you. I was just thinking about how nice this is and how much I l-like you. And how great everything was and I'm tired and I said it. I didn't want you to be upset or lose yourself over this. I don't want you to think I'm some crazy kid. We don't ever have to talk about this again."

"Harry," Nick says. 

"I'm not one of those people that needs you to like, say it back," Harry explains quickly because the look on Nick's face was making his stomach hurt. "And I'm not one of those people who pretend they're fine but are really pissed at you. I swear - you don't have to say it back."

Nick nods. 

"Do you want to…" Harry trails off, putting one hand on Nick's thigh. He wants so desperately to go back a few minutes and kiss Nick instead of saying stupid things. 

Nick moves Harry's hand off his thigh and stands up. "I'm going to go put the kettle on."

Harry watches him walk out of the room, heart heavy. 

 

Nick calls it off two days later.

 

Harry gets the text to meet Nick in the coffee shop on campus in the middle of his sociology class. He's giddy on the way there, bubbling up about the girl next to him and the professor's hickey and Ben Howard's new album. 

They order lattes while Harry chats and it isn't until their drink arrive that Harry notices Nick hasn't said a word. 

"Hey," he says, frowning, as they sit down. "Are you okay? You've been really quiet."

"I'm fine," Nick says, eyes looking down at the table. "I just need to talk to you about something."

"Okay," Harry says, taking a sip of his drink. It's too hot, scalding the tip of his tongue. Harry wrinkles his nose up and laughs. "God I hate hot drinks in winter."

Nick smiles but it fades quickly. 

"Look, H," he says, voice heavy. "I wanted to talk to you about – well. I thought…"

It hits Harry then. It hits him how quiet Nick's been, how stuttery and awkward, the public nature of the coffee shop. It hits him hard and has Harry reeling.

"No," he blurts out, eyes wide. "Nick, please don't say you're doing what you're doing."

Nick meets his eye and then looks away. Harry feels his stomach turn to lead. 

"No, no, no," Harry says, shaking his head. His eyes are welling up already, eyelashes fluttering helplessly to blink them away. "Nick please don't do this."

"H," Nick says, voice rough around the edges. "I think this is going too fast."

"No," Harry says, immediately. "Nothing's going too fast – when I said that the other day, I was just being stupid."

"It's not about that."

"Of course it's about that."

Nick fidgets. He twitches his fingers around and normally Harry would reach over and stroke them but he doesn't think he's supposed to right now. 

"I'm worried that you." Nick says. 

"You don't need to be," Harry stares at Nick's hands and wills himself to pick one up. "I swear, I'm not falling too fast or anything like that. I'm fine - it was just a stupid thing I said." 

"This is your first relationship, Harry," Nick does what Harry was too weak to do and links their hands together. Normally that gesture makes his stomach flutter but right now it just makes him feel like a kid. Harry tries not to cry. "You know I'm not good with stuff like this."

Nick stares at their hands for a long minute. Harry tries to keep breathing steadily.

"I think," Nick says after a long silence. "I think we should take a break."

Harry bites his lip. He holds his breath.

"Not like," Nick looks up at Harry. "Not a break-break. Just a little one. Just a pause."

"A pause?" Oh god, Harry's voice cracks. 

"A week to think about - things," Nick says. 

"I don't want a week to think," Harry says, using one hand to wipe at the tears under his right eye. "I don't want to be away from you."

"It's not forever," Nick says, his voice rational and calm and so so gentle. "It's just for us to figure out whether or not this is working. Whether or not it's healthy."

"Healthy?" Harry doesn't know what to do with his hands. His eyes are still burning but his heart is jump started. "Where is this coming from? Is this Aimee? Did Aimee tell you I'm some dumb kid who's obsessed with you?"

"What?" Nick's eyes are wide. "No, Haz, no-"

"Henry, then? Pixie? Anyone of your friends?"

"Harry, no one said anything about you-"

"Your fucking friends that I spent months trying to get to like me," Harry says, breathing unsteadily. 

"It wasn't my friends," Nick says, soft and sad. "I'm just scared. And tired. And I want you to have time to think about this. About everything."

Harry stares at the little slope where Nick's neck meets his shoulder. It's covered up with a nice woolly jumper but Harry knows that underneath it Nick is warm and freckled and soft. That little bit of skin is Harry's favourite place in the world, the one place where he can tuck his face into and forget about the world for awhile.

He looks down, feeling the tickle of a sob in his throat. 

"I'll call you," Nick says.

 

Harry waits until he gets back to his room before he starts crying. He puts _Red_ on and hides under his duvet and cries cries cries. 

 

The next morning he cries when he wakes up and Nick's not texted him a _good morning_.

 

It's weird and rough and awful. Harry's heart is still so deeply in love but his mind keeps reminding him not to send cute snapchats to Nick, to not text him a heart just because he was thinking of him. 

Niall takes him out to a pub and he explains the whole situation. Niall agrees that Nick is being dumb. So does the bar tender and the old woman next to them who was eavesdropping. They all think that Harry should look over the relationship again, though, and see where the fault lines were. 

Harry's a little tipsy when they get back from the pub, but no enough to really fuck him up so he starts a list. He writes down that he stopped hanging out with friends so much and only wanted to hang out with Nick and even cut class a few times because he wanted to stay in bed with him longer. 

He pins the list up on his corkboard and falls to his bed, headphones in his ears. He listens to the first half of _Red_ , again, but cuts it of just before _We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together_ because he really doesn't want that to be true. 

 

Harry's on his way to sociology three days later when he's hit with the most sickening feeling of dread. 

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk. One of his headphones falls out of his ear but he hardly notices over the pounding of his own heart. A shoulder knocks into his and startles him into blinking around, looking at the people around him go about their daily lives.

He wheezes in a breath and turns around, away from campus and straight to the bus stop. 

The bus ride is long and awful and Harry's breath is coming so short he has to keep stopping himself so he doesn't pass out. He jumps off at the stop near Nick's flat and like auto pilot he gets himself to his door, heart jumping around in his ribcage, lungs on fire.

Nick opens the door. He looks tired and cute and heartbreaking. Harry's eyes well with tears.

"Harry?" Nick asks, eyes wide.

"I-" Harry says and then he chokes. He splutters and coughs and he knows tears are falling but he can't stop them. His hands shake and then his body shudders, his breath coming out shallow and rough. 

"Oh, love," Nick says, voice panicked. Harry feels Nick pull him inside the doorway and up against his body. It doesn't stop Harry's nervous heart or his empty sobs. Nothing can stop them now that they've started.

Harry cries on Nick's sofa, on Nick's shoulder, for the better part of an hour. Nick murmurs soft things in his ear while he hiccups and wipes his eyes, hands still shaking from where they're holding on to Nick's shoulders. 

Eventually his cries turn to whimpers and his whimpers turn to slow, even breathing. Harry knows his face is still wet, but he can barely focus on that when Nick's still muttering sweet things into his curls, arms tight around him. He feels safe and solid for the first time all week. 

"Nick?" Harry asks hoarsely, staring at Nick's throat as he swallows.

"Yes?" Nick says, quiet.

"Are you still coming to mine for Christmas Eve?" Harry asks.

There's a beat of silence.

"Oh love, love, love, love, love," Nick says, pressing a kiss to Harry's hairline. "Is that what this was all about?"

"I just," Harry breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. "I thought about having to tell my mum and I didn't like that. And about having to give the tea cosy I made your mum to someone else."

Nick chuckles into Harry's hair. "You magnificent boy."

"So you are coming for Christmas?"

"Mm," Nick presses another kiss, then one more. Harry feels a flush he hasn't felt in awhile spread across his cheeks. "Believe it or not I was going to call you at noon."

"Really?" Harry asks. Nick nods. "Why?"

"To apologize for being such an idiot," Nick says. "I made both of us miserable for a week because I was scared. And I want to say sorry for that."

Harry bites his lip.

"I'm sorry I put you through that," Nick says in his super adult voice. "I'm sorry I made you cry."

"It's okay," Harry whispers, inching closer to Nick. 

"It isn't," Nick says, smoothing a hand down the back of Harry's hair. "It really isn't, love."

They stay wrapped around each other talking quietly until Gillian comes home.

 

When Harry slips back into his room the next morning Niall's smirking at him.

"You two made up?" he asks, sly, and Harry's blush speaks for him.

 

They take the train to Holmes Chapel a week later. It's been odd getting back into it. Odd because it's awkward and odd because it's perfect. They stumble around each other the first day, Nick texting too much and Harry second guessing himself.

On Wednesday Harry tells Nick he can't go out with him because he's getting dinner with Zayn. It feels good, to have a life outside his boyfriend. 

The train ride is quiet for a minute or so before Harry unravels his iPod and they share the headphones between them. They listen to Bleachers and A$AP Rocky and Shania Twain. Nick tells him a story about when he was a kid and had an imaginary pet camel. Harry counts all the freckles on Nick's face.

They get to Holmes Chapel at half past eleven. Harry gives Nick a small tour, pointing out his old bakery and the corner store. The porch light is on when Harry drags Nick up their walk way, hands tangled together and swinging.

"Fuck," Nick says just before Harry rings the bell. "What if they hate me?"

Harry looks up at him. Nick's biting his lip hard and his eyes are wide and crazed. Harry loves him. He loves him a lot.

"They'll love you," he says, squeezing Nick's hand. "Promise."

He leans over to press a kiss to Nick's cheek before he raises his hand to knock on the door.

 

Once they're full on tea and biscuits Nick goes up to Harry's room to get ready to sleep. Harry stays down to wash the mugs with his mum, having missed the easy warmth of the kitchen and the soft pitter-patter of Dusty's paws. 

"He seems very nice," his mum says, giving Harry a smile. "Funny. And kind."

"He is," Harry says, placing a plate back in its right shelf. "He's really good to me. And for me, I think."

She puts a hand on his back and rubs a slow circle. He smiles at her. 

"It's nice to have another Northerner around too," Anne says, winking. Harry laughs.

"That's what Nick said, he uh-" Harry coughs, smiling. He hasn't stopped smiling since the first time Nick made his mum laugh, a minute into him walking through the door. "He keeps telling me his parents are going to adopt me once they find out I'm Northern."

"Are you excited to meet them?" his mum asks, helping him with the last of the drying. 

"Yeah," Harry says. "I'm going to bring a lot of baking for his mum. And his dad's a United fan so. Hopefully I'll win them both over pretty quick."

"They couldn't not love you, H," she smiles, closing the cupboards. "Now, come on, bed time. And no funny business, or I'll put you in with Gemma when she gets here tomorrow."

" _Mum_ -"

"Don't test me."

 

Nick's half asleep when Harry slides into bed next to him. His old childhood bed may have Power Ranger bed sheets at the moments, but it's also bigger than his dorm room bed, which is depressing. 

"H?" Nick mumbles sleepily. 

"Shh," Harry says, cuddling close. "You need to rest up - doing a whole walking tour of the town tomorrow."

"The town's half a kilometre," Nick says, opening one eye with a smile.

"Oi!" Harry says, reaching out to tickle Nick's ribs. Nick cackles. "No one makes fun of my hometown but me."

They grapple for a bit sleepily, desiring proximity much more than winning the fight. When Nick leans in for a kiss Harry straddles him, eyes half-lidded. He smiles down at him. 

"Hey Harry?" Nick says in the soft of the night.

"Yeah?"

"I," Nick licks the side of his mouth and slowly sits up. He holds Harry by the waist to keep him from slipping and leans back against the headboard so they're eye-to-eye. "H, I- you know."

"I don't know anything," Harry says, ducking his head to catch Nick's eyes. "I don't know a single thing."

"No, you know that I-" Nick looks down at his hands. Harry slips his fingers behind Nick's neck to tug his face up but he resists. "You know. You _know_."

Harry's lungs feel like they're filled to the brim with butterflies that refuse to sit still. "Nick?"

Nick looks up at him. He nods.

Harry can't help the smile that spreads across his face. He knows he must look ridiculous but he's never cared about something less. He throws his arms around Nick's neck and rests their foreheads together. 

"Uh," Nick says, eyes flickering over Harry's face. His hands have come up uncertainly around the curve in Harry's back. "So I just thought you should know that. Like."

Their lips meet.

"You don't have to tell me that, though," Harry says when he's caught his breath back. "You know that, right? I don't have to hear that from you. It's enough – we're enough. I don't need promises."

The hand on his waist draws him impossibly closer. Harry giggles, legs tight around Nick's waist. He keeps his perch in Nick's lap, unsure if he's ever felt so happy. When another round of kisses land on his mouth he knows the answer.

"Hey Nick?" Harry asks a few minutes later. 

"Yeah?" 

"I-" Harry bites Nick's lip and then his own. "I _you know_ you too."

Nick huffs a laugh and falls sideways, bringing Harry along with him. Harry shrieks, landing over Nick on his knees, hands still tight in Nick's hair. When he looks down at Nick to scold him, grin tight over his face, Nick stops him with a look.

He pushes Harry's hair up from where it's hanging over him and slides his thumb over Harry's eyebrow.

"One day I'll be able to say it properly," Nick says, his voice soft. 

Harry just smiles.


End file.
